One Night in Ottawa

This isn't a sequel, but this story uses the main character from my Tech Problems in Grand East story.

*****

"Really?"

"Yeah, really," Diane laughed softly. "I've been thinking about it a lot actually."

I lowered my burrito down to the countertop looking at Diane skeptically. "Really?" I asked again. "This is us having burritos at Chipotle, and you're springing 'Let's have a threesome with my husband' on me?"

Diane put her fingers to her lips, looking at the tables around us, her face flushed. "Whisper!" she laughed. "Jesus, Conner."

I stared at her for a few more moments, the twinkle in her eyes finally making me smile. "Well, wow. You're full of surprises, Diane."

Diane took a drink of her Diet Coke, eyeing me curiously as she slurped the liquid through the long straw. "So what do you think? Are you against the idea?"

It was 5:30pm on a winter Thursday. People were swirling in and out of Chipotle, the one on Front Street in Toronto, with gusts of winter air entering the restaurant every time the doors opened. Diane and I were sitting on two bar stool seats at the window, looking out at people hurrying past in the cold. She was in knee high boots, a black leather skirt that hugged her hips tightly, and a tight form fitting sweater. I already had a taste in my mouth for what I wanted to do to her once we got back to my place.

"I don't really know what I think," I said. Taking another bite of my burrito now. I brushed my fingers over my lips as I chewed, wiping away a drop of sour cream. "No, I'm not opposed to the idea in general - this is just pretty out of the blue I guess. And with your husband. And you guys actually live in Ottawa - how would we even make it happen?"

"Well, you'd have to come to Ottawa, for the actual event. But what I would do is post an ad online somewhere, get a gazillion responses from horny guys, but really just consider your response. We'd have some online back and forth between the three of us, making my husband think you were local, and then whenever we arranged the night to happen, you'd have to come to Ottawa."

"Have you already spoken to him about it? Does he want to do it?"

"I've told him that I've been fantasizing about a threesome. Told him about that pretty graphically actually. He's kind of put me off so far, but, he hasn't said no the way he would say no if it was totally out of the question."

"Wow."

She laughed. "You're saying 'wow' a lot!"

I'd put my burrito down on the counter top again. Diane's husband. My brain was spinning this around over and over again. Me, Diane, and her husband. Jesus. I was having a hard time believing that this was really a good idea. And now my appetite was gone. "Let's wrap up our food and get going. We can finish eating at my place."

I had a tiny condo a few blocks west on Front Street. It was actually smaller than some of the rooms at the hotel where I worked as a tech specialist, but with Toronto housing prices, it had cost me $500,000 a few years ago. Diane hooked her arm through mine as we walked along the slushy sidewalk. Being from Ottawa she wasn't all that worried about getting recognized on the streets of Toronto. She came to the city often for work, and we had met at the gym at my hotel, when she had stayed there once as a guest. When I watched her walk into the exercise room at the hotel, I'd actually had to stop pedalling. She was 45 to my 30, but a long time athlete, with long dark brown hair, she was stunning. She was also wearing spandex shorts, and we recognized each other as cyclists right away. Some fun and playful conversation about bikes and Strava and TrainerRoad led to sex, and now, about a year and a half later, we'd settled into an easy-going "I'm coming to Toronto, will you be around?" relationship. She had told me that she was married late on the night that we'd first had sex. It startled me at the time, not believing myself to be the kind of guy who'd ever go after another man's wife. But, I'd had sex with her again the next night, and then she returned to Ottawa. We texted. We emailed. A correspondence grew between us, and in some small but enjoyable way, we carved out a sliver of space together that we could share, that could be ours. She was Diane, my unexpected texting buddy. Sometimes she came to Toronto, and when she did she would get together. It was simple, and fun, and neither of us expected much more from it.

In the lift as we went up to my condo, she pressed herself against my side and put her hand on my chest, pressing through the layers of coat and sweater. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned the threesome," she said. "You seem thrown off by it."

I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I just need to let it sink in."

"Have you ever had a threesome?"

"Nope."

"Fantasized about one?"

"Well, with two girls, yes, about a million times. Never with me and another guy and a girl."

"We girls get to fantasize as well you know," she said, leaning in a bit closer to peck me on the cheek as she whispered the words.

I took her hand in mine. The light for my floor went on, and the elevator doors opened. "Do they? Do girls fantasize?" I teased. "I would never have guessed."

*

We barely made it inside my door.

Diane's back to the wall, kissing her. My lips on her neck, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of my winter coat. A blurred memory of a swirl of hair as she turned her back to me, and her winter coat slid down between us. My right hand on her hip, my left cupping her chin, pulling her head back against my left shoulder as I smelled her hair, tasted her with a deep wet kiss, and then another, and another, on the right side of her neck.

"Put your hands on the wall," I whispered, and my hands slid down to her hips, finding the concealed zipper in her skirt and easing it down, and then sliding down to my knees behind her as I pulled her leather skirt down to her feet. One foot, then the other, helping her step out of the skirt, and then, running my hands softly from her ankles, up her calves, up her thighs, to her hips.

"Spread your legs," I whispered, and as she did, I touched the backs of the fingers of my right hand against her inner right thigh. Brushing up and down. Slowly. Softly. Diane moaned, and her head dropping, she pushed her ass further back towards me. Oh my God I wanted to taste her. My mouth already full of saliva at the thought of taking her clit into my mouth. But not yet. I caressed my fingers up the inside of her right thigh, warm against her panties, then down the inside of her left thigh. My left hand on her left thigh, leaning in, kissing her right ass cheek just below her lacy panties. My fingers continuing that circular caress - right inner thigh, panties, left inner thigh - over and over, endlessly. My tongue pressing to the line of her panties on her right cheek, licking up the seam, my tongue half on her flesh, half on her panties. And then the left cheek, my wet tongue stroking along the seam. Both my hands on her ass now, my fingers sinking deeply into her flesh, as I lay a wet biting kiss though her panties - my mouth full of the lace as I bit into her, flooding the panties with saliva. Right side. Left side. Kneading her cheeks in my fingers.

"Turn around."

She turned, looking down at me, a lost, senseless, unable to focus look on her face. She was still wearing her tight red top. My hands gripped her thighs, smoothed down her trim sexy legs. Skin to skin. Back up again. My fingers kneading into her calves, over her knees, her thighs. I hooked my fingers into her panties and dragged them down and helped her step free from them.

My hands still floating up and down her thighs, as I knelt fully clothed below her, I whispered "Diane, your right hand. Touch your fingers to your lips for me. Caress them softly over your lips, and then suck them. Index, middle, ring finger. Suck them for me Diane. Make them drip with saliva for me."

With her back pressed against the wall, she lifted her hand up to her mouth, and brushed her fingertips softly against her lips. A light, feathering touch. Then, one finger after another, and holding my eyes as she did, she sucked them back, drinking them into her mouth, sucking them long and languidly.

My fingers kneaded deeply into her thighs. "Reach down now, Diane. Touch yourself for me. I want to watch. Those wet fingertips. I want to watch Diane - your labia, your slit. Caress them for me babygirl."

She slid her left hand down onto my right, and our fingers hooked slightly together against her left thigh, as she reached her right hand down, and settled her wet middle finger to her slit, and her ring and index fingers on her labia, and stroked down, slowly, and back up again. The touch made her lean her head back against the wall and whimper. "Keep going," I whispered, breathless, and as she touched herself, I leaned in, and dropped a light wet kiss on her right thigh, then her left. Soft kisses, landing here and then there. Brushstrokes. And then wetter kisses, letting her feel my tongue stroke against her skin with each kiss.

Diane's hips moving now, urging forward, wanting more contact. "Your clit now, Diane. Show me. Show me how you touch yourself when you need me but I'm not there."

She stroked her middle fingertip inside her slit now, against her clit, and her entire body shuddered. Feeling her legs weaken I actually gripped her thighs tightly simply to keep her from falling. She lifted her left leg and hooked it over my right shoulder, pulling me in slightly, and with my face just inches from her pussy I watched as Diane pressed her index and middle fingers together and stroked her clit deliriously. I was lost now, senseless. I needed to taste her. Needed to taste this exquisite woman. My left hand gripping just below her right asscheek, and my right hand cupping under her left thigh, I leaned closer and licked the back of her hand. I licked her fingers as she stroked her clit frantically now. And then, almost cat-like, I nuzzled her fingers out of my way and stroked my lips over her labia. I lapped at her slit with my thick wet tongue, coating her pussy in saliva. Over and over. Finally pressing just inside and letting my tongue stroke over her clit.

"Diane," I whispered. "Spread your labia for me, show me your clit. Show me your clit, Diane, and I'll drink you until you cum all over my face."

Diane was pressing heavily back against the wall now. She was supporting herself on her right leg, her left hooked over my shoulder. She was moving in a deliriously erotic dance between me and the wall, her eyes closed, mouth open. She gripped the fingers of her left hand into my hair as she reached her right hand down and spread her labia for me. "Eat me you fucker," she moaned. "Eat me."

I was drooling for her. Insanely turned on by this, by seeing her touch herself, seeing her pussy dripping for me. I needed this more than she did. I buried my face between her legs and locked my lips on her clit and sucked, making her body jolt and making her thrust her sex hard against my face.

Oh my God I wanted this. After all the build-up, I was delirious for her. I drank her clit frantically, pulling it into the pool of wet saliva in my mouth. Sucking faster and faster, my face buried between her legs. 

She let her left leg, still hooked over my shoulder, fall a bit more to the side, opening herself even more for me, and I pressed my face even more tightly between her legs and sucked her clit furiously. I pulled back slightly and slammed two fingers deep inside her. Fingering her pussy deeply. "Are you going to cum for me Diane?" I gasped, my saliva and her juice dripping down my chin. "Are you going to cum all over my face baby?"

She locked the fingers of both hands into my hair and yanked me back between her legs. I locked my lips onto her clit again and drank her as she ground her pussy against my mouth, fucking her hips forward over and over and over. "Oh fuck," she moaned. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck..."

*

Diane was lying on my right in bed. Turned towards me, lying on her side, she touched her right hand to my stomach. She slid it down over my hip, onto my quads, towards my knee. "Conner, the threesome idea - does it throw you off? The idea of being naked and having sex in the presence of another man?"

I closed my eyes, and settled deeply into the feeling of Diane's hand caressing over my body. Touching, and being touched - Diane and I were good at these things. It had come naturally to us - one of us lying back with our eyes closed, floating in the ocean of the other's hand caressing over our body. Skin touching skin. Exploring, being explored. You don't hear of this kind of exploration being spoken of very often, and it's definitely not in any of the porn I'd ever watched, but it means something, to be caressed this way. Diane and I really spent very few nights together, but when we did share a bed, it seemed like we spent more time in this sensual exploration than we did in full sexual adventuring.

"No, not really," I muttered. "It was just the combination of things I think. The idea coming up at Chipotle, in public, threw me off a bit actually. And then, the other man being your husband. This coming full circle back to him. I don't know. There were just a lot of things bundled into it that threw me off."

Diane's hand on my tummy. Sliding higher, caressing over my chest, my nipples. "Do you know why I want you to be involved?"

"Oh, I don't know. You do seem to find me mysteriously attractive," I smiled.

"Oh God, you are freaking attractive," she sighed, leaning in to kiss me just above my right nipple. "But I'm not sure you do know why I want you involved." She reached her hand up and brushed her fingertips over my lips. "You know you're a giver, don't you? You concentrate so much on me that I have a hard time taking control and finding ways to please you. Besides the fact that you and I already have this hot relationship of ours, you're also a good fit for what I want with my husband. I need the other man to be patient, to let things progress between me and Jean, and not throw Jean off. I need the other man, I need you, to wait, and be patient, and take your turn with me when the moment is right, and I trust you. I trust that you would sense all this, and be all of this, for me. That's why I want you involved."

I lay there quietly. Diane settled into the pillows and into the bed at my side. She stared at me for several long moments. "Tell me what you're thinking," she whispered, reaching her hand towards me again.

"Diane," I murmured. "I'm having trouble sifting through all this. I don't know. I don't know how to describe it."

"How to describe what?"

"Well, the threesome, and this mental block I'm having with it. I mean, who am I, or who will I be, in that room with you and your husband? I feel like I'll be waiting on the sidelines until beckoned, and I'll do my good duty, and then, what? Do I vanish in a puff of smoke and I'm done? I'm out of there?"

Diane stroked her fingers along my side. I could almost hear the thoughts swirling through her head as we lay there together. "Conner," she said. "I have a very specific thing I want to do. A specific position I've fantasized about. I don't know if this helps you, it probably doesn't, but should I tell you what I've fantasized about?"

"Sure."

"I want my husband lying on his back, and I want to be kneeling between his legs, taking him in my mouth, giving him oral, while you kneel behind me, holding my hips, thrusting deeply into me." Diane's voice actually broke slightly as she described this. I reached my hand to hers and held on for a few moments, turning my head to look at her. She rolled fully onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. "Holy fuck," she whispered. "You have no idea how much I want that to be you. Thinking of you taking me that way, thinking of you being there, that almost made me cry."

There are moments, in your relationships with people, when the air between the two of you pulses and aches, and neither of you have the words to make it right. And maybe it's because words aren't the right tool in those moments. I had no words for Diane. I barely had any words for myself. I turned towards her, spooned my body against hers, and draped my left arm over her tummy. I believed her. I believed she saw me in that room. That she truly wanted it to be me in that moment. But though it was so clear for her, it was impossibly hazy for me. I didn't really see myself in that position. She needed a man - the right kind of man - but, just a man. And I was her lover. Wasn't I? Was I wrong for this?

"Are you sure?" I whispered, my fingertips floating over her stomach.

"Yes."

"But, about me I mean. With what we've been doing essentially behind your husband's back. Are you sure it should be me in that room?"

"I want it to be you," she whispered. "Whether or not it is right." Her voice dropped, the thought went unfinished. "I don't know. I just know I want it to be you."

*

It took a few months for it to happen.

Diane kept nudging her husband to accept the idea, and finally, in late January, they posted an ad together. Diane described the response from horny guys as a deluge - and they only left the ad online for a day. I'd been forewarned though, and through Diane's stewardship my response rose to the top of their list. An email correspondence began between the three of us. Diane's emails trended towards the erotic and the sexual, and I held myself back when I responded to them, fairly sure that Jean, her husband, would be reading all these emails as well. When Jean wrote, which only happened two or three times, he asked about me as a person. Current relationships, past relationships, any kids - as though he was trying to get a sense of who this person was, who might be joining him in the bedroom with his wife.

In early March I took a train to Ottawa, and met the two of them for drinks at the Moonroom in the Glebe neighbourhood. The Moonroom is a very softly lit restaurant with candles glowing in jars on the tables, dull lightbulbs hanging haphazardly from the ceiling, an old-school chalkboard on the wall bearing their wine list and appetizers. We sat at a thick slab of a wooden table, and shared a plate of nachos while Diane and Jean sipped wine and I drank beer.

Diane was the most at ease of the three of us, though Jean, in his early 50s, was friendly and easy-going in his own way. He was a touch older than Diane, right around 50, and was a faculty member at the University of Ottawa. Raised in Quebec, he spoke with a slight French accent, and was somewhat a male equivalent of Diane - mature, fit, and attractive. His hair was grey, but he gave the impression of having gone grey early, because it suited him, as though he'd lived a long time with it. He was a touch taller than I was, maybe 6'1, but being whisper thin, he was far slighter than I was.

As I sat across from them, and watched them, watched their body language together, watched their naturalness together, I started to feel the misgivings that had haunted me off and on about this night. It had been easy to sleep with Jean's wife, when I had never met Jean. He had been a rumour to me, a ghost, and in my bed Diane was mine, not his. But now I knew what his voice sounded like, I knew what kind of wine he liked, I knew what it looked like when he poured wine for his wife. Even worse - having heard random stories from Diane about her life - I now had a real-life picture of the man who'd been at her side for those adventures. And he was a good guy. Maybe that was what really knocked me for a loop - he was a good guy.

*

Outside the Moonroom, late on a winter night in Ottawa, Diane somewhat purposefully linked her left arm through Jean's, and her right through mine, and we walked down Preston to Carling Street. Jean wore a toque and the kind of synthetic padded coat that you'd buy from an outdoor equipment store. I was in my dressiest casual coat - a tweed, vaguely military looking jacket, which fit tightly, had buttons up the front, and frankly was nowhere near warm enough for Ottawa, even with the scarf I had tied around my neck. Diane's mood became purposeful now, and it was clear to all of us that the "meet for drinks" had gone well, and that the threesome was now inevitable. At Carling Street we jumped on a bus and went east a few blocks to their part of town. On the bus, much of the frivolity of the restaurant was gone. Jean and I perhaps feeling more nervous about what was going to happen, and Diane more aroused and intent on making this fantasy of hers finally come true.